


i'll most likely kiss you in the morning

by dramaturgicallycorrect



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:33:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7904887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first time he kisses Louis is by accident and isn’t even a kiss, it’s more like a gentle, accidental brush of the mouth, but Liam still counts it enough to not look like a total loser at Never Have I Ever. </i>
</p><p> </p><p><i>It had just been a sort of classic We Got Too Close While Talking sort of situation, nothing out of the ordinary, as he’d assured Harry seven times over at lunch, but only because he’d witnessed it. Liam only cut off when Harry started pressing his face directly into his food just to get Liam to stop talking about it.</i><br/> </p><p>[Or Liam gets his first kiss.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll most likely kiss you in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> a little thing for my anonymous pal on tumblr.

The first time he kisses Louis is by accident and isn’t even a kiss, it’s more like a gentle, accidental brush of the mouth, but Liam still counts it enough to not look like a total loser at Never Have I Ever.

It had just been a sort of classic We Got Too Close While Talking sort of situation, nothing out of the ordinary, as he’d assured Harry seven times over at lunch, but only because he’d witnessed it. Liam only cut off when Harry started pressing his face directly into his food just to get Liam to stop talking about it.

Only it wasn’t nothing out of the ordinary, it was something very definitely in the extraordinary, simple as it was. It… awakened something in Liam. Not like _awakened_ awakened, because at this point, at the healthy age of sixteen, Liam’s plenty awakened, awakened on average about eight to ten times a week, but. It opened a damn Pandora’s box as far as Louis’ lips were concerned.

Louis’ lips, which he followed with his eyes a perfectly normal amount, unless someone was paying attention -- then he was looking rather a lot. And all Liam thinks about is doing it again and all Liam is sure of in the entire world is that it’ll never happen again. Not with the way Louis had laughed and said nothing about it, and Liam’s cheeks flushed so pink he looked sunburnt. Hell of a first kiss, though.

So when Niall had said _never have I ever been kissed_ (which absolutely nobody believes), hoping to knock some of the older of them out, Liam drinks -- sips, more accurately, quite illicit, this alcohol. Unexpectedly, Louis’ eyes snap to him with laser-like focus.

“Who?” he demands.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Liam says, because the alternative -- a gentleman doesn’t accidentally brush lips with another gentleman and then tell other gentlemen about it, with the exception of a third gentleman, some seven or so times just to confirm that nothing really serious happened between the first two gentlemen -- that sort of thing sounds ridiculous.

Louis’ lips press into a straight line like he’s displeased, and Liam worries for the first time that Louis actually thinks Liam’s going to tell on him. He’s not so much upset that perhaps he doesn’t know Liam’s been kissed -- Liam does plenty on his own, stuff that Louis can’t see (god, he hopes Louis can’t see) through his bedroom window. He’s more upset that the Lip Brushing Kiss might become common knowledge.

Liam’s stomach grinds and turns and he knocks back a fairer amount of what’s in his plastic cup, even though he’s never done the next Never Have I ever either. The last thing he wants to do is embarrass Louis, the last thing he wants to know is Louis is embarrassed of _him_.

The first lie is so easy, the rest of them come easier. He tips back sip after sip until he has to refill his cup, only he can’t get it because the room turns into the spinning teacup ride at Disney World when he tries that.

He’s actually very good at Never Have I Ever, only that’s a skill you’re not exactly supposed to boast about. At the end of the night, Liam’s usually sober, which is his preference, but has also a long catalog full of stuff he’s never done that make him feel decidedly less cool.

Louis plays in a stony silence until they’re over it, like maybe he remembers he’s just turned eighteen and therefore far cooler than any of them. Like he’s come to this party because he had to give Liam a lift instead of Liam being present when Louis was invited and they’d looked at Liam and said, _oh I guess you can come too_.

Liam’s more than willing to get out of Louis’ car about two blocks from the party if it means he gets to ride with Louis the rest of the way.

Instead of getting up to join a few of them at the ping pong table in the corner where Harry’s currently destroying anyone who even looks in his general direction, Liam lies flat on his back and won’t be moved until it’s time to go. Nevermind how everyone has to step around him.

He should really be lying on his side, in case he vomits, that's what the little business card-sized How to Treat Alcohol Poisoning card he got from that Anti-Drink Driving assembly at school says. He thinks wistfully of his pledge to never drink underage, mourns the loss of his childhood innocence. He's hard now, a law-breaker, sure to be turned out on the streets of his mum ever finds out.

The next time he opens his eyes, when he’s certain the room’s stopped spinning, Louis is standing over him, upside down unless Liam’s the one upside down. He looks like he’s fighting a smile.

“You’re a shit liar, Payno.”

Liam blinks and thinks about it. “Yes, yes, I am.”

“And you’re drunk.”

Liam blinks and thinks about it. “Yes, yes, I am.” He squints up at Louis. “I hope you’re not, ‘cause you’re my ride.”

“No, I’m not. Are you ready?”

Liam holds his hands up, wiggles his fingers in an invitation that Louis greets with a derisive snort. When Louis tugs him up, his stomach roils, he thinks he can literally feel the beer sloshing around inside him.

He’s pretty sure he’s going to sick up all over his shoes, the nice red trainers that his mum bought him for Christmas that he wears without the laces done up because he saw some people wearing them like that on the television. He trips over his feet a lot more than the people on telly.

Louis steadies him at the hips until Liam’s swaying but stable. Liam only has a moment to enjoy the grounding feeling of Louis’ hands on his hips before they’re gone. “Meet me outside, okay?” Louis says. “I’ll be right there.”

Liam nods, he knows the deal. Leave separately, so they don’t look like they’re leaving together. “Yeah, okay, I’ll be right by the tree with the knob that looks like Mr. Bean. Do you know the one?”

“Sure, Liam.”

Liam wraps himself in his jacket, gives his scarf a turn or two around his head until he can’t really turn it from side to side and shuffles outside. He can’t find the tree with the knob that looks like Mr. Bean and promptly begins to panic, certain Louis will never find him again.

Anxiety rises in his throat, burning like bile, until he can hear Louis’ voice say his name.

Liam spins around to see him, which means the world spins again, the center of it steadied on Louis’ face like it’s meant to be. Louis frowns at him. “You okay?”

“I have many regrets,” Liam says solemnly, once his heart stops pounding.

Louis tilts his head and raises his eyebrows like _fair enough_. “Let’s go home, eh?”

“Home,” Liam stutters, thinking for a moment that was a shared place for them until he realizes Louis just means they’re neighbors.

The heat is cranked up as high as it can go in Louis’ car because Louis’ jacket is more about looking cool than it is functional. Liam sweats bullets in his own coat and scarf, but says nothing, figuring Louis needs it. They ride in silence, all the way to Liam’s drive, where Louis, oddly, walks him all the way in the house. He keeps a steady hand to Liam’s back as he walks him up the stairs.

Louis still remembers where his room is, even though he hasn’t been here in years. Liam has a flash of crushing embarrassment as soon as he realizes his room looks about the same as the last time Louis’ been in, down to the bunny curtains.

The lights blind Liam when Louis flips them on and Liam scrambles to flip them back off with a vampire-like hiss, pretending like he can blame it on the alcohol instead of the general shame of Louis getting a glimpse of his race car sheets. His parents have promised him new sheets for uni. Or his twentieth birthday. Whichever comes first.

Louis closes the door behind them and by the light of the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, Liam can see Louis’ eyeing him. “Who’ve you kissed, really?”

“You,” Liam says before he can think better of it. He really would have thought better of it, he swears.

Louis starts unwrapping Liam’s scarf and replies blandly, “Me biting at your neck when we were kids doesn’t count.”

Liam watches him carefully, mindful of his proximity, the way Louis leans in to unwind the bit of scarf around the back of Liam’s neck, almost like he’d lean in for a kiss. “No, it was last week at the footie game, you remember that?”

Louis tenses, then tosses the scarf over his shoulder, gets Liam’s coat off all the way before he says, “Yeah, that wasn’t a kiss.”

“No, but it’s the closest I’ve got,” Liam says. “That’s another check mark off the ole list.” He makes a check sign in front of him just to illustrate that nearly knocks the two of them over.

“Mate, that doesn’t count either.” Louis sits him on the bed and starts to unlace Liam’s shoes.

That’s very thoughtful, the shoes, Liam thinks, but he doesn’t say a thing about it. Instead he says, “Unless you wanna make it official, I’m counting it.” Then he puckers his lips and leans over, about to throw himself off the edge of the bed as soon as the world gets a bit wobbly again.

Louis covers Liam’s face with his hands and pushes him away. “Are all your kiss-related experiences with me?”

“Strangely, yes,” Liam answers, with a strange determination for truth that overtakes him as soon as Louis touched him. “Don’t you think that’s strange? That’s quite strange. But see, this way we could get the trifecta, the hickey and the peck and the snog down with just the one person. It’s practical. It’s like that picture, you know, of evolution, monkey to man, only it’s you.”

Louis squints at him. “Am I the monkey or the man?”

“I think you’re evolution in this instance.” Liam settles himself into bed, squirming until his duvet rests more on top of him than it does under him. “And I’m getting kissed. For once.”

He doesn’t mean to be so morose about it, truly, but sometimes he’s pretty certain he’s the only one not out and getting kissed. Even Niall, the bloody liar, who got everyone to drink whilst simultaneously disrespecting the sacred rules of Never Have I Ever.

He vaguely thinks just a kiss will do, just the actual act of being kissed sounds quite nice. But he genuinely wouldn’t mind it if it were Louis. He’s got those lips, quirked in amusement as he looks down at Liam. He bets they’d feel real nice. He also bets they’d taste like beer, so he’s not entirely sure he’s excited about that bit.

Louis draws the duvet right up to his chin. “I’ll kiss you in the morning, okay? Good night, Liam.”

Liam grins up at him, the warmth that blooms in his cheeks slowly trickling down through the rest of his veins, heating those too. He’s gonna get properly kissed. And by Louis.

“Don’t think I’ll forget. Just cause m’drunk, because I’m not going to forget. I’m going to write it on my arm.” Liam goes slapping at his bedside table for the Sharpie he keeps there somewhere.

Louis grabs his hand and pushes it back under his duvet. “Yeah? Spell morning.”

Liam pauses. “I could if I wanted to, but I’m not going to, to prove a point.” The truth is he can't remember whether or not it has an E in and he's not in a condition to be laughed at.

“Go to sleep, Payno,” Louis says, his voice either a devastating sort of gentle or Liam’s being dragged away too quickly by sleep to hear him properly.

\--

 _Kiss me in the morning_ , his arm says, which is a lovely message to wake up to, until he rotates his arm a little further and finds a dick drawn on it.

Suddenly, an entire night’s worth of embarrassment slaps him upside the head and he genuinely feels as though he’ll sick up all over himself. He’s heard that sometimes drunk people forget what happened the night before and he wishes, oh how he wishes, that could have happened to him.

He practically threw himself at Louis Bloody Tomlinson, didn’t he, that’ll be a whole mess to deal with, if that’s not perfectly evident by the mocking graffiti on Liam’s arm. In the bathroom, he scrubs carefully at the dick first, jumps about a foot into the air when his mum starts hollering for him to come down for brekkie.

He’s too stressed for a shower so he ducks his head in the sink and gives it all a brisk rinse and towel, thoroughly trashing the good straightening he’d given his hair last night, leaving it to dry and seize its way into the waves he only lets his mum sees.

In the end, he can't get all of the dick off his arm. He throws on a hoodie so he can look his mother in the eyes. He wonders if he should apologize to her, preemptively, about the drinking. She’s bound to find out, she finds out about everything.

He doesn’t say a thing, though, not a single word when he rounds the corner into the kitchen.

He blinks again, thinking the mirage will fade. Louis is in his kitchen with his mum making breakfast. Christ, if he’d known Louis was down here, he’d have… done something. Brushed his hair? His teeth? Some other vital form of oral hygiene?

“Good morning, sleepyhead, not like you to sleep in,” his mum says.

Louis turns from the pot of beans and winks at him. “Late night, yeah. Loads of traffic on the way back. Thanks for the sofa.”

“Anytime, dear. Did you two have a good time at the game?”

Liam’s about to ask _what game_ , but Louis widens his eyes at Liam and nods very carefully. Liam can’t actually remember telling his mum what he was planning to do last night. When he said he was going to go out with Louis, she just told him to have fun.

He forgets how good Louis is with his mum sometimes, has gotten them out of any number of binds in the past. Serves him right though, since he’s the one who always created the bind in the first place.

“Yeah, no, definitely, it was…y’know, brilliant footie, probably,” Liam says, totally cool, and in no way betraying he’s lying his arse off. But the utterly unimpressed look that takes over Louis’ face seems to suggest he’s failed.

“Who won?”

“We did,” Liam answers, as Louis answers, “They did.”

They stare at each other.

“It was a tie,” Louis clarifies smoothly, “but truly, they were the better sportsmen. Liam has a misguided sense of loyalty.”

His mum stops scooping eggs onto a plate and looks over at him, frowning. “Are you cold, love?”

“Yeah, how’re your arms?” Louis says idly, spearing a sausage with his fork and waving it about in what may or may not be suggestive motions -- Liam genuinely isn’t sure at this point, but pretty much everything vaguely cylindrical is now suggestive to him.

Liam wraps the hoodie a little tighter to himself. “I’m fine, it’s fine, just wanted to get comfy.”

They have dinner at the kitchen table like they used to do the morning after sleepovers at Liam’s before Louis would run back next door. It’s pleasant, if not a little odd.

Liam’s mum manages to get more out Louis in the half an hour than Liam’s known about him in years. He’d had no idea Louis was thinking of taking a gap year instead of going straight to uni, that his mum had divorced, that he’d gotten a job at the Toys ‘R’ Us on the weekends that he’s determined not to be fired from this time.

“Speaking of which,” Louis says, rising with his plate in his hands. “I’ve got a shift in about an hour. Thank you very much for breakfast, Mrs. Payne.”

She grins at him warmly as she takes his plate and heads for the sink. “It was nice to have you over, Louis, it’s been so long.”

“It has, yeah,” Louis says, softly, almost fondly, and Liam drops his fork.

Louis raises his eyebrows at him and nods to his right. Liam blinks at him. Louis does it again, jerking his head like he’s in _Night at the Roxbury_ and Liam just keeps blinking until Louis says, “Liam, walk me to the door.”

“Right,” Liam says, knocking the table with his hip in his hurry to get to his feet.

Louis stops him just in front of the door, leaning against the wall just by the coat rack, and he takes Liam in critically before he decides, “I like this, look at that curly mop.” He runs his fingers through it, something intimate in the action sends a shiver down Liam’s spine, until he ruins it by giving it a good ruffling, like his grandpa does, even when Liam’s spent the better part of an hour straightening it.

Liam flushes, his cheeks hot enough to warm up leftovers on, and resists the urge to smooth down his hair so it looks a little less unruly. He’s always thought it was a bit wild, not in a good way like Harry’s, but in a way that makes him look unkempt. But if Louis likes it, Liam’s rethinking a thing or two.

Louis watches him for a while, his hands crossing against his chest, so Liam has to guess at what he’s waiting for.

“I apologize for being so,” he stops to whisper, “ _drunk_ last night.”

“Payno, you had one cup of lukewarm Guinness, I promise,” Louis laughs. “I think you were experiencing some sort of drunk placebo effect. Either that or the bullshit about your kidneys is true.”

Liam frowns at him. “My kidneys are not bullshit.”

“So you admit there are two.”

Liam’s actually not sure at this point, he was so young the first time around to really remember the specifics or the complicated medical things he was told. But also at this point in his life, he’s wondering if the whole One Kidney thing was just some anti-drink ploy on behalf of his parents.

“Are you ready, then?” Louis prompts.

“For what?”

“The kiss?” he explains, like Liam’s a bit dense.

Maybe Liam is. He’s dense and panicking, absolutely astounded at the thought. “Oh. _Oh._ Were we going -- I thought maybe you were joking. Yeah, I mean, sure, yeah, I’d love -- not like, _love_ , I mean -- ”

“Liam, shut up.”

He pushes himself from the wall and leans in slowly, a hand thankfully resting on Liam’s neck to guide him closer, otherwise Liam’d just sit there like a bump on a log, wart on a frog. They’re kissing before Liam can even register it, the light press of their lips together is still somehow more solid and sure than anything Liam’s ever felt.

Liam would be happy if they just left it there, he thinks, but then Louis pries his lips open and that’s a whole new level of phenomenal. Only Liam has no clue what to do with his tongue -- is he meant to just poke it in there? Rub it against things? Battle Louis’ tongue for power?

 _I’m doing it, I’m really doing it,_ he chants in his brain, nearly whites out when he realizes, _I’m doing it with_ Louis.

He gets his hands on Louis’ hips and presses forward and presses forward until he’s got as much of Louis as he can manage, until Louis hits the wall again with a thump that startles them apart.

“Shit,” Louis laughs as he pulls away to scrub at the back of his head.

Liam blanches. “ _Sorry_ , sorry, I’m so sorry. Sorry.” He reaches for Louis’ head, to do what, he’s not sure -- check for blood, check for a concussion. Only Liam’d give the first person he kissed a concussion, he’s that much of an absolute wanker.

Louis bats away his hand, huffing, “M’fine. Christ, Liam.” He exhales hard, and Liam notices for the first time he’s flushed, which Liam doesn’t quite understand. Louis clears his throat. “So. How was that? Better than our first?”

Liam laughs right in his face, dumbfounded, and breathes, “Well, yeah.”

“Good.” Louis grins and pats at Liam’s chest until Liam takes the hint and gives him room to leave. “So you’ve got a kiss, now, stop lying, Liam. We are men of action.”

“Lies do not become us,” Liam finishes the quote, ignoring the lurch in his stomach, the subtle reminder of the summer when Liam was ten and they wore out two copies of _The Princess Bride_ on cassette tape because Louis’ mum hadn’t gotten a DVD player yet and they always had to stay over at Louis’ to watch the girls.

Louis ruffles Liam’s hair once more before he goes and Liam is left staring wistfully at his closed door for a moment until he rolls up his hoodie’s sleeve to make sure the writing’s still there. His lips are still buzzing and he can still taste Louis if he tries real hard, but he still doesn’t believe it’s true until he’s got his eyes on the dick on his arm. Also the words there, the promise Louis inked into his skin and followed through on.

He’s been _kissed_ , boy, has he been kissed, and it wasn’t nothing. He got his first snog off the boy next door. It was something.

But the fact of the matter is, Louis isn’t the boy next door, _Liam_ is. He’s never out late (except last night), he always does his homework (its accuracy is often suspect, but it’s done, and that’s the most important thing), he always says yes please and thank you much, and all that other stuff parents in films like a lot.

Louis doesn’t make him feel like the boy next door -- Louis’ got him drinking a lukewarm cup of Guinness two years before he should and Louis’ putting him to bed way after his curfew and Louis’ snogging him some three meters away from Liam’s mum.

Louis’ a bad influence, always has been, even years ago, when they were risking poking their own eyes out fencing with fallen branches in Liam’s back yard. Suddenly Liam can’t remember why there’s been years since they’ve last had a proper conversation, but whatever it was, it doesn’t actually matter.

Liam runs his fingers over his lips and only wants more.

\----

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you need me, I'm [here.](http://wickershire.tumblr.com)


End file.
